


Secret Spy Santas

by vyduan



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyduan/pseuds/vyduan
Summary: Secret Santa exchange at SD-6! Set in S2 during Christmas time after The Passage where Sark joins SD-6. Can be AU or canon afterwards.
Relationships: None
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Secret Spy Santas

**Author's Note:**

> I don't bake from scratch so all errors in the baking process are mine and not our capable heroine's.

"He did what?!?" Sydney burst into a fit of giggles. "That's even worse than the Cafeteria Incident freshman year! I will personally ensure that Will never lives this down - no matter how old he gets."

Sydney struggled to keep the phone in between her shoulder and her capacious laughter as she mixed a bowl of cookie dough. "What do you mean I can't mention it? Francie, what's the point of telling me if I can't say anything about it? You know I can't keep a secret. This is the worst kind of torture, you know."

  
She attempted to push escaped strands of hair out of her eyes, succeeding only in smudging her forehead and cheek in flour. "Oh crap, I forgot to take out the eggs. We have enough eggs, right?" Relying on her training and innate ability, Sydney tried fruitlessly to open the fridge via elbow without putting down either the phone or bowl. After finally triumphing against the door with her foot, she realized she had no free hand to pick up the eggs.

"Hey Fran, what's that thing you put in your chocolate chip cookies? Don't tell me 'love' cuz I know it's not that. Love does not taste that good!" Sydney capitulated to the laws of nature and set down the mixing bowl. "How can you not trust me? I'm your best friend! I promise I won't tell... But this is the type of secret I _can_ keep. Come on... Fine. But it's your fault if Dixon doesn't like his Secret Santa cookies."

Sydney added the eggs and folded in some vanilla extract and chocolate chips. "Oh, before I forget, I have another business trip tomorrow morning so I won't be back until Saturday night. As usual, I'm going to miss the Secret Santa reveal again. Yeah, it's with the new guy at work - the one from the rival firm I told you about. I know he's pretty, but so does he!" Sydney stopped mid-stir and cackled with glee. "Francine Calfo, you did _not_ just say that out loud! You are so wicked! And for the record, I will do no such thing."

She glanced quickly at the clock on the wall and noted that it was a quarter past five. "Hey, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I have about an hour to finish these cookies and shower and get ready for one more meeting before we head out tomorrow. I'll see you soon." Sydney quickly spooned cookie dough in evenly spaced lines and shoved them into the oven. She could wash off her afternoon activities while they baked.

***

"I think my gifts were just fine. There's a $25 limit, you know, Francie. Besides, he loved the cookies - no thanks to you. Anyway, what's the point of giving him more stuff he can just buy himself? I'd rather make it thoughtful." Sydney grunted as she valiantly attempted to squeeze into shrunken leather pants. The black and purple velvet corset she wore helped, but not enough.

"What's wrong with giving him a mix CD of jazz standards? Those are his fav - It is NOT so high school. And I'm not being cheap. You're just jealous I didn't make _you_ a picture frame. My crafting skills are world-reknown." Her chuckles rumbled through her toned frame and bounced off the hotel walls. "Mm-hm...Yeah, and don't you forget it."

Sydney walked into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. "I just can't believe I haven't gotten anything yet! I know it's voluntary and not everyone is into it, but in the last two weeks, everyone else has received something from their Secret Santa. Even the new guy! I thought for sure I'd receive something before we left on the trip."

She covered her indignation with foundation and a creamy blush. She lined her hazel eyes with a piercing black eye-liner, blended Plum Dressing shadow with Blackberry in the fold and outer corners of her lids, and swept silver Vellum all over. Stepping back, she decided there could never be too smoky an eye when it came to the type of establishment she and Sark would be meeting their contact; she caked on the shadow.

"No, Francie. I haven't killed him yet, but I've certainly been close a few times this trip. The man is so precise and particular! You'd think I haven't been doing my job for seven years or anything. Everything has to be 'just so.' And of course, it sounds even more pompous with his proper Queen's English. No wonder he drives everyone at work crazy." She returned her attention to curling and applying a deep, violet mascara to her lashes. Finally, she stained her lips a deep, blossoming plum wine.

"Don't feel sorry for him. He deserves every bit of animosity. He practically begs for it. He's so arrogant - and that smirk. Someone clearly did not heed his mother's warning about making a face so often it stays that way."

A knock on the door interupted her mid-rant and she started guiltily. "Hey Fran, I've got to go. I'll be home tomorrow night and we'll catch a movie, ok? Bye, hon." She laced up the mulberry ribbons on her platform stilettos and made one last adjustment to her spiked wig of blood red, blonde and neon pink.

Sydney opened the door, instantly dissolving into a cascade of snickering. Sark's normally blond hair disappeared underneath a slick, jet-black hairpiece. Midnight liner ringed his eyes, bringing out the ice cold blue of his irises. In the light, she even noticed a hint of cobalt mascara covering his long lashes. His muscles rippled lean and tight under a black, sleeveless mesh top. He, too, was wrapped in leather pants that left no room for imagination.

Sark gazed at her with cool disinterest and raised a pierced eyebrow. "Are you quite finished? Because if you're not, and what we are doing here is instinctively reacting to each other's disguises, you should be very careful." His eyes raked over the curves and length of her form. "Your disguise elicits many a thing in me - and not one of them is laughter."

The brightness in her eyes evaporated. "Let's go."

***

She slumped into the abandoned offices of SD-6 and bee-lined to her workstation. "Hey Francie, I was hoping we could stay in tonight instead of heading out for a movie. I just want to sit around in my pyjamas, eat ice cream and watch something stupid on TV. Really? Thanks. You're the best. I -- "

Sydney stopped short at the sight of a glittering package on her desk. "What? Yeah, I'm still here. Let me call you right back."

She gently pulled on the sparkling sapphire ribbon, carefully unwrapped the silver paper and lifted the box cover. Inside was a polished wooden box, richly ornamented with abalone shell, semi-precious stones and her name carved in delicate calligraphy. Sydney stared, transfixed. She knew the gift far exceeded the $25 limit.

Sark murmured low and husky in her ear. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

Startled by his proximity, a delicious shiver slid up Sydney's spine. Sudden warmth flooded her cheeks and she felt curiously shy. "It's so beautiful," she breathed. "Thank you."

She opened the box and heard a faint tinkling as pins struck the tuned teeth of a steel comb. The melody sounded so sweet and familiar; she was instantly transported back to a time when her mother was still alive to hold her and hum strange lullabies. Turning to face him as tiny tear drops marked her flushed cheek, she asked, "How did you know?"

Sark lightly brushed away her glistening tears with the pad of his thumb. "Your mother, she used to comfort me with this song when I was very young and had just come into her care. It's an old Russian lullaby. I assumed she hummed it first with you."

Sydney's mind reeled, amazed that Sark could reveal any information about his past - let alone be this considerate. He seemed far removed from his office persona and she wondered fleetingly if Mr. Sark were merely another of his oft-used disguises. "Thank you."

"Look inside the box, Sydney. There's more."

She peered inside and found a few loose photographs and an aged, plain photobook. The first picture held three little girls in a tangle of limbs and beatific smiles. The next one was a black and white photo of a stunning brunette. The last two were candids of a woman that seemed older than Sydney's memories but younger than the woman in the glass cell.

Finally, Sydney opened the photo album and saw a brief history of her life from birth to six years old chronicled in her mother's precise handwriting. She did not trust herself to speak.

The last straining notes of the music box ended.

"She asked me to keep it safe for her before she disappeared a few months ago. I trust that you will keep it safe now in my stead." Sark paused, biting his lower lip. "I had always hoped that my own mother had created and kept something similar. I suppose I shall never know."

Sydney remained in her seat, clutching the precious photographs to her chest.

He hovered behind her and lightly placed a kiss on the crown of her head. "Merry Christmas, Sydney." And then, he was gone.


End file.
